It’s been a little over 10 weeks since I decided to meet my best girl Sarah for a drink at one of the private bars in our town, and when I was permitted to enter I was maneuvered to sit next to a giant smiling man with large rough hands. A man I had actively avoided and disliked for 2 months previous. Forced to allow him to pay for my drink, as non member I was not permitted to pay, I gave him a chance. My posture was relaxed but not welcomingly pointed in his direction. I ordered a double Jameson on the rocks, which his good friends have since told me is the moment he further fell for me. We talked, he made me laugh then we parted ways, but not before I had taken his phone and programed my number in it, telling him he wouldn’t spell my name right.
I yelled at Sarah profusely in her apartment why she had tricked me into sitting with him. She’d been smiling the whole time, because this handsome knucklehead of a man was loud, and ineloquent, but he was charming and warm. Needless to say I ignored him the rest of the night until he asked me where I was, I told him to meet me at my favorite haunt in town, the pub.
The pub, funnily enough was the place I had originally seen him and given him a cold shoulder after kicking his ass off the pool table. We ended up spending the entire night together, laughing and talking. He telling me that for the past two months he’d noticed me and tried without success to strike up a conversation with me. I covered my face and laughed at this tale. I’d always been drawn to him, a tall broad shouldered man with a brooding and unconventionally handsome face.
Mike. Good lord in heaven above knew that I was as far away from meeting someone as I’d been in years. As you may have read in my past posts, I am in a transitional period where my selfishness is warranted. Or at least excusable… barely.
So, it’s been a topsy turvy ride. I have, admittedly been “play acting” at relationships my entire life. Okay, maybe not play acting, but comparatively to the past 10 weeks every other interaction I have ever had with a man has been with training wheels.
I’ve loved before, but never have I ever felt the way I do about this big scarred man that has found his way to me. And never has another human being been more of a stranger to me than him. He’s a big goofball, he makes crude jokes that I reprimand him for, and he’s distracted constantly. Eight years my senior, I find myself more mature in some ways and extremely naive in others.
I’m discovering what it means to partner in things, intimate and otherwise. I am learning to accept the things I originally scoffed at him for, like his compliments when I wake bleary eyed with bad breath in the morning. Or to snort at his attempts at romance, he usually just exhales his sentimental statements like a sprinter after a dash. As if I’m supposed to know what he feels and thinks.
His voice is deep, and his laugh booming. He carries many scars inside and out, I am continually finding scraps and raised tissue on his face and hands. His hair always sticks up, and he smells like comfort and summer.
I think he’s the first guy who knocks me down on my ass only to encourage me tenfold to get up and fight harder. He’s not at all menswear savvy, or “hip”, but he can build a bar & restaurant up from destruction, make me a quiche from scratch and he puts up with my horrible jokes. He’s nearly my exact opposite, but all together familiar.
He talks years down the line, and I can barely see into next week. So, here’s to 10ish weeks already having past, and everyday when he accepts my mistakes, and I support him through his. Because god knows, I’d always rather be laughing about something than crying.